The horse was shaping up, turning into something completely different then what he'd dreamed. He smiled a little at the question. "Yes, I do like them. My favorite is ... Well I don't have a favorite breed. Why do you ask?" Did it have anything to do with the horse that the other man worked upon so diligently. He struggled not to ask anything about it, to hide the thoughts flitting through his mind.

Oh what was it about this man that made his heart flutter so? Michael was just too sweet to bear! His accent was thick, wringing through each word. "I like it when you say my name." This was a dream, that was all. A dream. He was still sleeping, he could give in and do whatever he wanted.

Michael stared at Sasha for a moment. Did he? The young man wasn't quite sure how to acknowledge that, it put him so far out of his element. Sasha seemed a bit odd. Like he wasn't really there. Maybe he wasn't. It had to be expected, the way Michael had inadvertently called him in without really doing so. Perhaps he was still half-asleep. That was probably it. He shook his head a little, adjusting himself without moving his legs. Still, though, the pulling sensation around the skin surrounding the outward bolts was extremely uncomfortable, and he grimaced.

He turned the horse a bit so its head was facing him. "I... was just curious, is all." He admitted in regard to Sasha's first comment. "There are so many breeds... I used to look them up all the time before I was taken... The Akhal-Teke is my favorite... They look so metallic. Like they're made of silver or gold or bronze..." Beautiful horses. Like real metal. Shining in the sun. He had metallic paints, and thought silver might make the creature shine so well. Lighter even than Sasha's hair.

The name rang a familiar bell, and an image of a white horse with a flowing golden mane jumped to mind. "Oh I love those ... With golden mane and a white coat." He was almost crooning the words. He was leaning in close, his near white hair brushing up against Michael's shoulder.

Smiling softly he tilted his head just so to brush his lips against the other man's cheek. "I really wish there was some way I could make all your pain go away. Normally I wouldn't tell you, but since this is just a dream ... " Sasha sighed and shook his head slightly. " You're just too sweet to hurt so much all the time, Michael." He had no idea this was real, the waking world. It was so much like a dream, with no one else there and nary a sound, soft light filling the room.

Just a dream...? So that was why he was acting that way. Acting as if it weren't really happening. In his mind, it wasn't. Michael's voice caught in his throat when he was about to speak, though, and was sure that his face had grown obviously red. Turning, he stared out the window on the other side of the room until the feeling passed. Maybe he was just stuck in his fourteen year old self when it came to interactions. Or too soft-spoken and walked-upon. Before his abduction he hadn't had a chance to form romantic relationships or find steady, real friends. And afterward, he'd been commanded, thrown about, and threatened into submission. That mix of environment had his emotions playing for dominance---to be kind and allow Sasha to continue to think it was a dream, or to be blunt and tell him it wasn't.

He smiled. "I appreciate you." He said, reaching a hand to Sasha's and grasping it. "I wish the ones that did this to me had thought the way you do. But... Sasha... Maybe it's better to cut the dream short. You can't really help me when you're not really here, right?" Perhaps it would coax him to go back to bed and actually feel 'awake' afterward. So that he didn't regret anything he'd said now. It wasn't quite two in the morning, after all. Michael would be awake the rest of the night, so he wouldn't wake Sasha again, and by morning he would be finished with his figurine. Finished and able to present it to Sasha. A gift for the first person that's really shown him true kindness.

He had to be dreaming. Michael's smile was that breathtaking to his dream filled eyes, and the other man was actually holding his hand. "I can't help at all whether I'm awake or not. All I can do is ... watch." His breath hitched and the same kind of tears he'd hidden away earlier slipped from his eyes. "And I don't understand why it always hurts so much, or why I always want to reach out and hold you close, but I ... just can't." It was silly to feel this way towards someone he'd just met, but he already felt so much.

And this was a man. He didn't usually like men, not in a way that felt so romantic. Michael just did that to him he supposed. "You're right though , I should leave." But he didn't want to.

Michael's brow furrowed worriedly. He thought it was a dream, Sasha did. He'd say what he normally wouldn't say and that was worrisome. What if he actually admitted to something especially problematic? What if he did something because he thought the dream would shift to accommodate the action? It was better for him to sleep. "I can't understand it either." He finally said. "I don't understand it because I've never been in the position to acknowledge it. It feels like I've been frozen in time the past seven years. I just came back to strange new world with the memory of a fourteen year old." He bit his lip. What a stupid thing to say! He'd been worried that Sasha would say something he'd regret and he was doing it instead. He sighed.

"I heard once that when you go to sleep in your dream, you wake up in reality." It was a lie. But when he fell asleep and, for once, didn't dream, it felt as if only moments passed before he woke up and in reality, more than an hour would have passed. "I'll see you when you wake up, though. You know I can't move much without a lot of work." And he'd wake Sasha again if he didn't keep quiet when he got into his wheelchair. It was still in reach, at least.

Sasha closed his eyes briefly and nodded. Wordlessly the young man reached out to wrap his arms around the other man and give him a quick squeeze. He brushed his lips against Michael's cheek once more before departing. He was still afraid he'd hurt him with that fast, impulsive, action even though he knew this was no more then his mind working through the events of the day.

Shaking his head he walked away to curl up under the blankets, and this time truly fell asleep. Deep as it was, for once he wouldn't wake, no matter the sound.

Michael hadn't expected the movement, and had to bite his tongue to keep a reacting yelp from escaping. Sasha hadn't meant it, hadn't meant to do it, and didn't think it would actually hurt because it was a 'dream' to him. "Good night..." He called weakly, though Sasha probably hadn't heard it. Sighing, Michael looked back at his figurine. It wasn't dry yet, and it wouldn't work to try to paint it until the white base was finished. He stared at the clock, instead, and listened to the faint classical music. When he felt enough time had passed, he uncovered and slid his hands under his legs, moving one at a time with faint whimpers of pain until they were both hanging down from the side of the bed. Grabbing the wheelchair, he made sure the break was on before using his arms to lift himself off the bed and into the seat below. The sudden movement sent a stabbing pain up his back and through his knees and hips, but it faded while Michael ground his teeth and growled to himself. Going into the bathroom was a simple task, and he made sure to keep quiet lest Sasha were sleeping too lightly again.

It was difficult to sleep so lightly, he knew that. Waking at the slightest sound, difficulty falling back to sleep. Impossible. Especially his first two weeks in the hospital, when people were coming in every two hours to check on him. Not that he slept much then, either. But being able to move around on his own, at least, he felt he could at least handle things on his own. Maybe even live by himself. But he had no source of income---how would he live away from here? Basically, he was an ongoing experiment.

He was back in bed quickly, though with a bit more difficulty since it was up higher than the chair itself. Covered, settled, he checked the paint on the figurine and sighed. Still slightly tacky, just by the look. He leaned forward, blowing on it until it actually dried, and started applying the silvery paint. The way he applied it first with the soft brush, then the shorter-bristled brush made it look like it actually had texture---or what little texture the Akhal-Teke had. He painted the hooves a less metallic tone, more of a rosy-white color. Then the eyes---dark. Pools of brown-black ink. Then he used the sharp end of his metal cutter to cut some of his hair, mostly from the back of his head in the middle. Using glue, he formed the tail from the longer bit of hair he cut, and set it aside to dry while the paint did.

It took a while, but not quite as long as the base coat had to dry. With his help, blowing lightly on the silvery color, adding the finishing touches with paint, adding pale reddish tone to the nose and mouth. Then he dripped a bit of glue into the hole that would hold the tail, pressing the end of it all inside and holding it until it formed, which only took a few minutes. The sky just above the horizon was just beginning to glow with morning as Michael trimmed more of his hair, placing it into the slot that was the mane's holder. With a bit more silver paint, he was able to seal what little space could be seen.

Content with the finished work, Michael set it back onto the corner of the table and leaned against the pillow, resting his back with a light sigh. Hopefully Sasha would like it...

Sasha shifted, reaching out for something, someone, in his sleep. Finding an empty space beside him, the pale haired man woke with a start. His eyes slipped over his new room, taking in the medicinal scent of it all, and then he remembered what had happened, why he was there. Panic settling in, the pale haired man didn't bother putting himself to rights as he vaulted from his bed and into Michael's room. He sighed in relief when he saw that all was well. Last night he seemed to recall a vaguely worrisome dream, once which had made him want to ... Oh he blushed at the thought!

"How are you this morning?" A lame way to try and cover his worry, his eagerness to see what was going on with the other man. And then Sasha's eyes fell upon the finished sculpture, tiny and perfect ... With, was that hair? "Oh it's so beautiful ... But why did you cut your air?" He settled down upon the bed, leaned oer to peer t the sculpture more closely. It looked so like the horses he preferred, those elegant creatures with such strength beneath their shining exterior.

Michael lifted his head when he heard a door open, and widened his eyes at Sasha. What had worried him this time...? He'd been quiet this time, almost relaxed. Now he was the one concerned, pushing himself up with a grimace and sitting upright. He was tired still, but it was normal for him. He'd sleep a little more, but for the morning, he watched the sunrise. He smiled when Sasha spoke, a real smile since now, the pain wasn't so terrible. "I'm... okay." He replied carefully. Did he remember the dream? Michael couldn't act as if he remembered any of it. He hadn't been there, really, for what Sasha knew. And embarrassing the man wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to do.

Looking to the sculpture that was referred to, Michael shrugged. "You... really can't tell I cut my hair. I like to add a little of the elegance to what I create sometimes, and making the horse's mane and tail out of clay just... didn't do it justice, I think." He pursed his lips when the bed moved a little, and reached down to shift his leg without making it move on its own. "I'm glad you like it, though, Sasha... I... It's for you." His voice faltered near the end, breaking as it did. A gift for a friend, something he would like, a silvery horse that was, in nature, a proud creature, but strong.

For him? All that work had been for him? Reverently, Sasha reached out to cradle the tiny sculpture between his hands. "It's so beautiful, amazing. Oh thank you Michael! I can't believe you did all this work for me." There were hints of tears in his eyes. The other man had even cut some of his hair to make sure the horse was perfect. Sasha tried to think of what else he could do to thank the other man, but could find nothing at all which could measure up.

He smiled, tilting his head a little as he shifted a little closer to Michael. Gently, he wrapped an arm around the other man. "I just need to find the perfect spot to put this ... " Oh how could he ever repay Michael? Surely there was a way.

Michael was really happy now. Not just a fake mask that he put on over the veil of medically-induced depression, but something that was real. Even if it lasted only for a few minutes, it was like a dive into real, clear water after emerging from a disgusting mudhole. He gladly accepted the one-armed hug, and returned it, possibly surprising Sasha with the strength his arms had. "I'm really glad you like it, Sasha, it's... It means a lot to me. I thought you might like silver instead of gold. Or black, or bronze. It fits you, I think. It's really the least I could do for you. I... You gave up so much for me. Coming here, and spending so much time worrying..." He did worry, Michael could see it. He wasn't that good at reading emotions, but could feel it.

He picked at the dark paint on his thumb, that had been left there after he accidentally brushed it against his skin after finishing the horse's eyes. "Er... If you want other things, I could make them for you... I love to make things from clay... I used to love to make stained glass... That was before I was taken. I might still be good at that, but it wouldn't be a good thing to do around here, I guess. Maybe a painting, or a drawing..." He quieted himself. The rumble of his voice had begun to ache inside again, and he'd have to remember to keep his voice low. It had been a while since he spoke so much.

The other man had such strong arms... Sasha found himself thinking he could just melt into the embrace. And soon it was over, but the warm feeling he'd caught remained. What was this? "I haven't really done much, " mumbled the pale haired man under his breath. All he'd done was find a way to cause the other man more pain, masquerading as helping him. He could sing, like he had last night. Yes, that was what he would do.

Sasha had once fancied himself a possible broadway star, but no more. Still, he retained many of the songs he'd learned once, and broke out into a rendition of If ever I would leave you, though he had no idea why he chose that particular song. It just seemed to fit, to fit the fact that he didn't want to leave Michael's side. The other blond just seemed so happy when he was around.

Michael regarded Sasha a bit sadly. He could do a lot. He was so kind, and such an amazing singer. Why didn't he do that for a living? He could be on television. Maybe he could go far. Get away and live whatever life he wanted to. He enjoyed Sasha's singing, though it seemed to revolve around French and he couldn't understand it. This time, though, it was kind. Like a promise. He liked to think about it like that. A promise. He hadn't heard one of those in a long time. Gladly, he fiddled with a small ball of clay, making it into a tiny figure. A fox, he thought it looked like. When Sasha fell quiet, Michael looked at him.

"What made you do this?" He asked quietly. "I mean, any of this? You could be a singer... I mean, a big-time singer. Someone famous." And then, if that had happened, Sasha wouldn't have come to him. Maybe that made him sound... selfish. But he figured he deserved a little bit of that. For seven years he hadn't been able to have anything, and now he did---he had a friend. Even if that friend was meant to keep his legs moving and eventually get him up and walking, Michael wouldn't have asked for anything else. Just this friend. A kind person. Though for now, perhaps it was all he could call Sasha. Despite the evening's odd behavior in the midst of a dream-like state, Michael couldn't think of him as more than that. Maybe someday, he thought with a faint smile.

Sasha laughed and blushed before turning serious. Almost shyly, he looked at the other man as Michael folded the clay into whatever he wished. That was a gift, right there. The talent to sculpt one thing into another, to transform it, that was something unique and wondrous. But he had to stop thinking of that and answer Michael's question. "I decided to become a doctor after my grandmother came down with cancer. It happened when I was in high school. I adored her, and there she was becoming sicker by the day until a doctor saved her. She died last year, of old age."

The memory had the pale haired man smiling softly to himself. He lifted his head to laugh a bit. "So there you go, that's why I didn't decide to go on stage. I wanted to help others, the way that doctor helped my grandma." And he was supposed to get Michael breakfast, and some exercises done. Not to mention helping the other man get settled into a bath! There was so much to do, and so little time to do it in it seemed.

He felt a sadness overcome him. But a strange form of sadness---something that came from a new place. A happy type. Or was it glad? He didn't know---hadn't felt it before. But the teary sensation in his eyes didn't come from a place of worry, fear, pain, or pure sadness. "That's kind of you." He told Sasha, feeling his voice shake. "Giving up what you might have hoped to do in favor of what you knew would benefit the ill or physically incapable." People were all so surprised at his elevated speech and thinking ability. But his captors had always left on a radio that he could hear. Never music, usually news stations and talk shows. He eventually figured out the definition of many words by listening to the content of the conversation, or even reading the dictionary. The dictionary being the only book he was allowed.

"You're a very selfless person." Michael said at last. "Doing what you do to... memorialize your grandmother and make her live forever through you. That's really good." He looked away from Sasha and focused on his little creation. A little fox, definitely, he could see it now. He would have to define it a bit more later. After he did more moving about. Maybe when he got used to it, it wouldn't hurt so much. He could only hope.

He blushed. Sasha shook his head from side to side and lifted his empty hand to press it against his furiously red cheek. There was no answer to any of that. Was Michael trying to ... flirt with him through flattery? That just made him blush even more, and want to run to his room and hide. But he couldn't he had a job to do! That job included taking care of the other man.

"I should ... go put this away ... Wouldn't want to break it." He shifted from the bed, let his feet touch the floor. Cold, so cold! Sasha shivered as he slipped into his room and placed the sculpture onto his dresser. It was so lonely there, alone without any other companions. Dimly he heard someone wheeling in a cart, a woman speaking kindly to his charge lightly about food.

Sasha put himself to rights, changed quickly, and stepped out into the other man's room. He smiled at the nurse and made small talk before she left. Then he turned to Michael and sat down upon the bed once more in what was fast becoming his usual spot.

Why couldn't he just be quiet? Michael bit the inside of his cheek angrily, though that was hardly a sting in comparison to everything else. Just shut up, and stop trying to gain more favor through Sasha's eyes. He already had that---favor, friendship. While he was here because it was a job, Sasha was a companion of sorts. Now he wasn't alone all the time. Michael watched him go back to his room and sighed, glaring at his little fox, picking it up and crushing it in his hand, putting it back with his other clay brick and wrapping it up, putting it and the paints into its drawer. He wiped his hands on the rag at the top of the table and set it back in its bag, tossing it in alongside the rest and pulling out his notebook again.

Going to a new page, he started sketching something new, but didn't know what yet. A skeleton to follow, first. But he cut that short when squeaking wheels met his ears. She started early, and he was always in awe of how energetic she was. Entering the room without the cart, Maddie---the older woman---held instead a chart and small pad of paper. In the morning, at least, he had a choice of what he could eat, though not in the amount. When he was given the chart, Michael chose cinnamon and apple oatmeal, hearing before how much better it was than everything else for breakfast. Including peaches, and a carton of orange juice, Michael smiled when Maddie took everything down and grinned widely in response, saying she would return soon. As she turned and Sasha came back out, he quickly looked back at his work and began drawing around the skeleton he'd later erase. He drew a young man, with crazy hair, hair over his eyes, and left it unshaded so it would appear to be white. A kind face, a smile, a pair of bright eyes sat upon lightweight, flowing clothing.

He held a music note. Michael didn't know what it was called, but it swirled nicely and added to everything. When Sasha returned, Michael startled a little at the suddenness of his presence and smiled in silent greeting.

Sasha could feel heat rising to his cheeks again. Then he noticed the fox wasn't there anymore, that Michael drew instead. He tilted his head this way and that to try and catch a glimpse of the other man's artwork. It just made him blush more, again. Why did these things make him react so? Did it have something to do with last night's dream?

The intern smiled to hide his nervousness, so sudden and unexpected. "I'm sorry to say that in a few hours, we're going to have to go through your physical therapy session. At ten." Something, anything, to try and cover his strange reaction to the other man.

Michael traded his pencil for a dark pen to outline the general sketch, and grimaced at Sasha's update. Though he knew it was for his own good, it was something he wasn't exactly looking forward to. "It's fine." Michael said. "I know. I mean, I understand, it's... supposed to happen. That's why you're here, isn't it? If I don't... start to move... I'll have to use a wheelchair for the rest of my life." And he wasn't looking forward to that. He wanted to walk... Wanted to kneel, and turn, and... maybe run. Use stairs. Go up and down hills. Just walking around the room would make his entire year, perhaps. Maybe be the accomplishment of his life. Nothing, he was sure, would make him happier.

He sighed. "I can take it." He promised. "I can. I'll walk... I have to walk... On my own. I don't care how long it takes." His promise was as much to Sasha as it was himself. Though he didn't feel he'd be able to walk for years, he had to try. Try. Maybe one day he would succeed. It wouldn't be good enough to accomplish a quick hobble across the room with someone supporting most of him, or use crutches or a walker or something that would follow him to the grave. He had to walk on his own, upright, in the end.

"Don't you want to do more then just walk? I mean ...." He almost stuttered, him! Sasha usually didn't have trouble with his speech but then, such a thought had struck his mind. But no ... It was best not to think of such things, especially not with him of all people. Michael probably liked pretty women with bright smiles and kind eyes. Those were the type he usually liked, Sasha did, but it never quite worked out. He was thinking too much about it.

Sasha brushed his fingers against the white blanket, tugging at it nervously. "I know you'll be able to walk, I just know it." He smiled. "Just tell me ... when you're ready to start." He didn't want to yet. He would hurt the other man, but at the same time he would be helping Michael fulfill his wish. That was important.

Michael blinked. Of course he wanted to do more. Wanted to be able to use his legs as if they weren't ruined with metal implants and bolts on the outermost area of his legs. "Sure..." He muttered. "I'd love to run. Climb. Kneel, or jump... But ever since this happened all I wanted to do is... walk again... I took it for granted for a long time, Sasha..." Since his legs were, when they weren't already dealing with the implants, broken most of the time to get him used to the pain so he wouldn't die of shock immediately, he'd crawl even then. He had the terrible memories of one of his captors demanding he approach him, and to do that, Michael had to lift himself up with his arms and drag his bandaged, set legs. And his captors laughed.

He sniffled quickly, hiding his face as he wiped tears on his sleeve. "Er... Soon..." He muttered. "I promise... Soon." Soon he would get up, walk around. After he ate, and made sure to get as much energy as he could out of it. Maddie would be back soon, and he'd have to busy himself with eating as much as he could, and get into that habit.

The young man shifted slightly. He reached out to pull the other man's hands away, so he could wipe away the stray tears he'd caused so inadvertently. "Most people do... I'm one of them." Sasha lifted his arms to wrap them around Michael without thinking about it. The instinctive action brought him so close to his charge, probably a little too close. Swallowing a little, he retreated and stared at the many sculptures Michael had created with those strong hands of his.

"I hate to push ... but ... We will have to do this by ten at the latest." He didn't mention the bath he planned on drawing for the other man. That was, somehow, an awkward thought in Sasha's mind. He couldn't afford to be so hesitant about seeing Michael unclothed. Even if the man with metal bound legs could wash himself, Sasha still had to check on him to make sure that all was in order.

He nodded, and nodded again before finding the ability to actually speak. "I know... It's still some time away... Maybe nine thirty, even? I think it's better to get started earlier than later. I want to get used to the pain... get more strength in my legs. Stand up one day." Maybe if the amateur scientists-turned-surgeons had had a real hospital at hand, they wouldn't have placed the metal and bolts where they would cause constant, nearly-unbearable pain. Maybe they wouldn't have damaged the muscle, and tissue, and forced the metal to adhere to the bone. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by the squeak of wheels. Maddie was back, and she came into the room with a smaller tray this time, setting it on the side of the table that was free and grinning brightly at Sasha. "Sweetie, I've never seen him sit up so tall before." She crooned, clasping her hands together. "Must be really excited to get to work."

Michael smiled lightly, glancing down at what he was brought as Maddie stepped around the bed and asked Sasha if he'd like anything specific from the cafeteria as well. While the oatmeal did have the same general appearance as the mush he was given while under lock and key, it was infinitely better in taste. He didn't care of it might be boxed, he didn't know the difference. It was on the same level as a five star restaurant as far as he was concerned, even if the fruits might be canned. Why couldn't others feel so content with simplicity?

Sasha smiled encouragingly and would have spoken more, but already the cafeteria worker, Maddie, had made her reappearance. Her words had a red flush sweeping across his cheeks. The young man let his eyes fall to the floor and scuffed his feet against the ground. He really didn't know how to react ... since it concerned Michael. What was it about the other man, thinking of him and how nice it was to see him smile, that had Sasha's feelings always in such a twist?

"Oh hmm, could I have some of the french toast with a fruit salad and some milk?" He wandered off a few moments to pluck up some money from his wallet and returned to give it to Maddie. Though he was now basically a live in nurse, he still needed to pay for whatever food he ate.